


All We Can Do

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Fingering, Gentle Sex, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Oral, Rough Sex, and this fic was the result, bellamy as one of the main characters, for really dumb reasons, so I decided to ask, this is NOT A BELLARKE FIC AT ALL!!!!!, vanilla sex, what if Bellamy fired a warning shot to warn the Grounder peacekeeping force about Pike's attack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15443781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Bellamy makes a different choice when Pike asks him to slaughter the Grounder peacekeeping force. While he's held captive in Polis, Clarke finds herself torn between her friendship with him, her love for Lexa, and her duties to her people.





	All We Can Do

**Author's Note:**

> Although 3x07 (and 3x08) were the episodes that pissed me off the most about T100 Season 3, and caused me to boycott the show (which I still do), I was also annoyed by Bellamy's genocidal tendencies in S3. His motivations for slaughtering Lexa's peacekeeping force were dumb as fuck, and didn't jive with his S2 character at all for me.
> 
> So I wrote this fic. I don't see it as "letting Bellamy off the hook" or woobifying him, personally, but as my own attempt to bring some consistency back to his character before the writers turned him into a garbage fire. He was hardly perfect in S2 - yes, he pulled the lever at MW along with Clarke - but his S3 arc was sooooo bad.
> 
> Like Lexa, Clarke, and the other characters in the show, I feel like Bellamy deserved better. It still pisses me off two years later.
> 
> (Also, this is not a Bellarke fic. There is NO BELLARKE HERE. Just to be 100% clear.)

Mud squelched under Bellamy’s boots as he crept through the darkness. The cold night wind breathed down the back of his neck, but it didn’t cause his hands to shake on his assault rifle. They shook because he was uncertain.  _ I’m on the right side, _ he’d told Kane, while staring straight into the ex-Chancellor’s mournful brown eyes. And he’d meant it.  _ But am I, really? _

Bellamy knew that violence lived within him. He’d set it free at Mount Weather. Made the choice to put his people first, to protect them no matter the cost to his safety or his soul. It had been easy to agree with Pike’s message of self-defense through offense in the fading dusk, when there was still enough daylight to see the faces of other Arkadians. His people.

In the black of night, things seemed different. Less clear. Here he was, fully armed, creeping into a camp of sleeping Grounders. Grounders who had made no move to breach Arkadia’s walls.

_ It’s only a matter of time. Why else would they be here? Lexa can’t be trusted. Grounders can’t be trusted. They betrayed us at Mount Weather. They killed Gina… _ Maybe if things had been different, he could have saved her. If he’d been on his guard. Been more suspicious. More careful.

A gloved hand waved a few yards to the left, motioning Bellamy forward along with the other guards. He forced his stiff legs to move, but his heart thundered in his ears. The last thing he had expected to feel in this moment was doubt, but it had crept up on him somehow. He doubted this decision. He doubted Pike. If he squinted, he could see the back of the new chancellor’s head. Pike’s pace was calm and steady, his rifle propped confidently on his shoulder. Obviously, he was sure of his course.

Bellamy stared for a long time, wrestling with yet another intrusive thought.  _ What if Clarke was here? What would she think? What would she do? _ He couldn’t predict what Clarke would do with any certainty, but he knew exactly what she  _ wouldn’t _ do. She wouldn’t massacre the Grounders in cold blood.

_ Why should I care what Clarke thinks? She ran away. Left me to pick up the pieces… _

_ And this is your idea of fixing things? Slaughtering a hundred people in the middle of the night? _

_ It’s the only way to keep Arkadia safe… _

_ Do you buy into that truth because you believe Pike, or because you’re pissed at Clarke? Because you want to do the opposite of whatever she wants? Because you want to punish her for leaving you? _

“I don’t know,” Bellamy muttered under his breath.

Beside him, one of the guards turned and offered an inquisitive look.

Bellamy shrugged it off. The guard nodded, refocusing on the terrain ahead. They were close to the Grounder camp. Lights flickered a short distance away. Bonfires, probably surrounded by guards. Poor bastards didn’t stand a chance, facing down a squadron of rifle-wielding Arkadians with no warning…

_ What will Clarke do when she realizes you committed another massacre? How will she look at you? Like how she looked at Finn after what he did? How will Octavia look at you, for that matter? She’s your sister. _

_ I’m doing this to protect her… _

_ Is this how she  _ wants  _ you to protect her? Would Octavia want a murderer for a brother? _

_ I’m already a murderer. I pulled the lever at Mount Weather. _

_ And what did you learn from that? If the answer is nothing, you shouldn’t be making the call to kill anyone. _

Bellamy took a deep breath. Then, he pointed his rifle at the sky and fired.

***

Clarke struggled to control her heart rate, hot breaths unfurling slowly from her nose. It was a losing battle. Normally, her anger was a precise weapon, carefully calibrated to produce results. This afternoon, it blazed paths of destruction in every direction.

She swung her practice sword at the dummy, grunting as the shock of impact raced up her arms. It was a rageful blow, anything but calculated, and it strained her left shoulder on release. Sweat rolled down her spine, soaking through her shirt, but she struck again, and again, and again.

_ Stupid, _ she snarled in her own head.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

She didn’t know whether she was referring to herself or Lexa. Both, most likely. Or maybe she was referring to Bellamy? It was his fault they were in this situation.  _ They, _ not  _ he. _ He’d never been forward-thinking enough to consider how his decisions might affect others until it was too late.

_ “We cannot risk it, Klark,” _ Lexa had told her.  _ “The situation is delicate. Pardoning him could invite violence, not just against me but against your own people.” _

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sword cut into the training dummy over and over, chopping deeper each time. Clarke’s gut broiled, fueling her fury until, with a snap, one of the target’s wooden arms split off. It sailed through the air, landing with a puff of sand.

Clarke shielded her eyes. This obviously wasn’t working. Taking out her frustrations on an inanimate object was useless.  _ Lexa _ was the one who had pissed her off. The one who had Bellamy in custody. The one who had demanded that Arkadia hand him over, even though he’d sounded the alarm that had warned the Grounders...

_ What if Lexa’s right, though? _ the mediator within Clarke couldn’t help but ask.  _ It was Pike’s idea, but Bellamy did too little, too late. Eighty members of a peacekeeping force were still gunned down. _

She cast a hateful glance at the training dummy, then sheathed the practice sword, wiping sweat from her brow. Hating Bellamy would be easier if she hadn’t also committed genocide for the sake of her people. At least he’d had a change of heart. Tried to stop it. She’d pulled the lever.

_ So did Bellamy. You’ve always known what he’s capable of. What  _ you’re _ capable of, Wanheda. _

_ I did it to save our friends. He was ready to slaughter our allies for no reason, until his guilt got the better of him. _

_ But he thought there was a reason. He thought he was protecting Arkadia. _

Then there was Lexa, who was far from blameless herself. All three of them had blood on their hands. Whether their choices had been just or selfish depended entirely on your point of view.

_ Only Bellamy might die for it, though. _

Clarke trudged away from the training grounds, eyes fixed firmly on her feet. A few warriors passed, some of them older  _ Natblidas, _ but Clarke ignored their glances and nods. The last thing she wanted was for someone to strike up a conversation. She didn’t even want to talk to Lexa. (She needed to talk to Lexa.)

When Lexa had knelt before her months ago, offering a union between their people, Clarke had felt something stir within her. It had taken her a while to identify that feeling as hope. Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite her hard-won knowledge that Earth was cruel and merciless, she had seen a glimmer of light in Lexa’s green eyes. That light had infected her. It had made her believe, for a moment, that peace might be possible.

But reality had reared its head again. Dusty, dirty, altogether a mess. Life was a series of choices: some good, some bad, some unavoidable. Clarke just hoped the next choice she made wouldn’t put her and Lexa on opposite sides once more.

***

“You know this is your duty.”

Titus’s somber voice grated on Lexa’s nerves. Something about the quiet bass infuriated her, though she didn’t let even a hint of annoyance show on her face. As always, her expression was blank stone.

“Informing  _ Heda _ of what her duties are and are not is not one of yours,  _ Fleimkepa.” _

Titus averted his eyes, but stood firm against the rebuke. His lips curled down like wilting leaves, revealing his disappointment. “You speak true. I merely urge you to consider the consequences of mercy.”

_ Consequences of mercy. _ It took more effort than usual for Lexa to conceal her disgust.  _ ‘Consequences of mercy’ _ was all the old ways of her people, rolled up into one infuriating statement.

“And what about the benefits of mercy? Certainly they deserve equal consideration.”

Rather than answer, Titus bowed his head. The gesture of submission did little to soothe Lexa’s raw nerves. If she followed her heart — let Bellamy live for his pathetically delayed attempt to warn her soldiers and stop Pike’s massacre (and therefore returned to Clarke’s good graces) — Titus would never let her hear the end of it.

“The decision is mine.” The sharp edge of her voice cut through the throne room, as she hoped it would cut Titus down to size. “ _ Heda’s _ word is still law… or am I mistaken?”

“No. You are not.” Titus backed away from the dais, remaining bent at the waist until he arrived at the double doors. As he turned to leave the throne room, Lexa rolled her eyes. Such exaggerated body language was neither necessary nor helpful.

_ Are you really angry with Titus, or are you angry because Clarke is sulking? _

It was a problem Lexa lacked the tools to deal with. Subduing her own desires and emotions for the greater good, as she had at Mount Weather, was difficult enough despite two decades of training. Ignoring Clarke’s feelings was practically impossible. To Lexa’s frustration, she remained hyperaware of her lover’s opinions, and they held more sway over her than she wanted to admit.

Titus cleared his throat, regaining Lexa’s attention. A flash of golden hair caught her eye, and she frowned in recognition. One glimpse was enough to tell her who sought an audience with  _ Heda _ next. The person she most wanted to see, and the person she was most terrified of seeing.

“Send her in, Titus,” Lexa said. “Then, leave us.”

“As you wish, Heda.” Obediently, Titus stepped aside.

Clarke took the throne room like she owned it, brushing past Titus as though he didn’t exist. Her bootsteps echoed on the stone floor — toes coated with dust, Lexa noted. It was no surprise that Clarke had gone outside to burn off her anger. ‘Outside’ was something  _ Skaikru _ had lacked before their arrival on Earth, after all.

With one last, reluctant look, Titus left the throne room. The doors boomed shut, sealing her and Clarke inside.

Lexa debated whether to rise from her throne, but decided against it. If Clarke had come for an audience with  _ Heda —  _ and from the fire in her eyes, she had — then she would deal with  _ Heda, _ not Lexa. Not until Clarke was willing to put aside her anger and admit that, whatever feelings either of them might have, the situation wasn’t entirely within Lexa’s control.

“Ambassador.”

***

“Commander.”

For a split second, Clarke was tempted to lower her guard. To seek refuge in Lexa’s embrace. The fight they’d had earlier that morning still weighed heavily on her heart. But she stood tall and strong, like Polis tower itself, and asked: “Have you reconsidered issuing Bellamy a pardon?”

Lexa arched an eyebrow. “I was unaware the issue needed reconsidering, as I have not yet made my decision.”

Clarke chewed her tongue. Lexa’s cool demeanor made her far more uncomfortable than anger or aggression would have. Part of her  _ wanted _ Lexa to snarl and bear her teeth. Arguing would be vastly preferable to this strained disagreement.

“When will you decide?” she demanded.

Lexa continued staring, seemingly unshaken. “I cannot say, Clarke. The situation is complicated.

“How?” Clarke seized the stairs with brisk strides, shoulders raised, fists clenched. When she arrived at the throne, she loomed over Lexa, causing a shadow to fall over the commander’s lap. “What, exactly, is so complicated about this? Bellamy fired the shot that warned your people. He saved twenty of them.”

“And Pike’s men killed eighty.”

“Bellamy’s a good person—”

“So are you. And yet, there is blood on your hands as well.”

Although Lexa didn’t say the words, Mount Weather leapt instantly to Clarke’s mind. It returned in a flash. Small bodies splayed on the floor amidst eerily silent bunker hallways. Lexa wasn’t wrong, but it had been exceptionally cruel of her to bring it up.

“I was never punished for that,” Clarke said in a flat, emotionless voice. She had to keep it that way, or it would break.

“Weren’t you?”

The searching look in Lexa’s eyes made Clarke feel naked. No, flayed of her skin. “I punish myself every day. So will Bellamy.”

“Punishment is not only for the perpetrator.” Lexa rose from her throne at last, taking one step across the dais toward Clarke. As the final gap closed, Clarke imagined she could feel Lexa’s body heat, even though they were still a foot apart. To her humiliation, it aroused her.

_ What are you doing? This isn’t about you and Lexa. It’s about Bellamy. _ But her reaction was undeniable. An ache gripped between her legs, one that longed for Lexa to come closer.

Bitterly, Clarke plowed on with her argument. “Then who is it for?”

“The victims, for one.”

Clarke recoiled. “I didn’t know  _ jus drein, jus daun _ was still the law of the land.”

“It is not,” Lexa said, hardening her jaw.

The question hung between them like a stormcloud. Lexa held Clarke’s gaze, and Clarke stared her down, nails biting into her palms.

_ Kiss her. _

The thunderbolt of a thought struck without warning. Shame scorched Clarke’s cheeks, and her stomach churned. Desperately, she tried to refocus her attention on the argument. It was no use. She was close enough to smell Lexa’s sweat, her hair, the leather of her outfit. Her eyes dropped to Lexa’s lips and lingered there, unable to move away.

Lexa’s tongue swept over her bottom lip, but she redirected her glance. “I take no pleasure in this, Klarke, but I will do my utmost to resolve it peacefully. I promise.”

“We’ll see.

Before she could do something stupid, like seize Lexa’s waist and crash their lips together, Clarke made her exit. She hoped it didn’t look like an escape as she whirled around and stomped toward the door, going as fast as she could without embarrassing herself.

As the double doors thudded shut behind her, she exhaled loudly, surprising both guards on duty in the hallway. With a glare that said ‘mind your own business’, she stomped away from the throne room, unsure where she was headed. It didn’t matter, as long as it was far away from Lexa.

***

Lexa paused on the top step, peering down the dim staircase that led to the dungeon. Torches lined the walls, but the weak yellow bubbles of light surrounding them barely breached the darkness. The cold and damp penetrated Lexa’s clothes, and she resisted the impulse to shiver. The pair of guards stationed by the door were still watching. She dismissed them with a nod, and they turned away, taking up their previous positions in the hall as the heavy door swung shut.

With the natural sunlight from the upper floor cut off, Lexa began her descent. The dungeon beneath Polis wasn’t horrible, as prisons went. She had been held captive in far worse places. Moreover, she rarely kept prisoners for more than a few days at a time.  _ Jus drein nou jus daun  _ was still a new way of life for her people. Typically, sentences of torture, banishment, and execution were doled out swiftly to lawbreakers.   
  
_ Unfortunately, Bellamy is a complicated case. _   
  
Lexa arrived at the bottom of the stairs, pausing before the first barred chamber. A narrow window, ten feet up and only a few inches wide, cast a pale beam of light upon the stone floor, illuminating a curled figure. The figure remained still, and Lexa frowned. Not only had Bellamy rejected the straw pallet she had provided, the most recent tray of food by the door appeared untouched.   
  
While she had not granted him the same luxuries she’d given Clarke by keeping her in one of the palace guest rooms, Lexa had seen to it that Bellamy wouldn’t suffer unduly. His cell was drier than most, with one of the dungeon’s only windows. She had instructed the guards to feed him regularly, and authorized a generous allowance of water. Bellamy didn’t seem all that appreciative. If she hadn’t observed his breathing, Lexa might have wondered if he was dead.   
  
“Bellamy.”   
  
Bellamy stirred at the sound of his name, peeking at her from over his bicep. His face remained partially buried in the crook of his arm, and he made no move to sit up.   
  
“I have spoken with Clarke.”   
  
That got his full attention. With a low groan of exhaustion, he pushed himself into an upright position. His face was drawn with weariness, but his eyes were wide and attentive. Lexa made a concerted effort not to feel pity. She couldn’t afford it.   
  
“What did she say?” Bellamy’s voice rasped when he spoke, as though he hadn’t used it in a while.   
  
“She demands your freedom, of course. You inspire loyalty in your friends, Bellamy Blake.”   
  
For a moment, Bellamy looked almost pleased. Then he frowned, turning away from Lexa and the light from the window. “She’s stubborn,” he said, his face mostly in shadow. “She should know you can’t just let me go.”   
  
That was true. If the other Ambassadors got wind of the fact that Lexa had pardoned the only surviving  _ Skayon _ who had participated, however briefly, in the attack on her peacekeeping force, they wouldn’t hesitate to use her ‘show of weakness’ against her. She had chosen a new path for her people by refusing their calls to destroy Arkadia outright, but Bellamy was the worst possible prisoner to pave the way for her new, more peaceful policy.   
  
“Eighty  _ gona _ lost their lives outside Arkadia’s walls.”   
  
Bellamy nodded with somber understanding. “And someone has to pay for it.”   
  
Lexa studied him for a long span of seconds. “My surviving warriors informed me that you did not fire your weapon at the peacekeeping force. They witnessed you throwing your  _ fayagon _ aside and dropping to your knees.”   
  
Bellamy stared blankly at the wall, refusing to meet her gaze.   
  
“Some also heard a warning shot before Pike’s forces entered the camp. The noise alerted the guards to  _ Skaikru’s  _ presence. Do you know anything about this?”   
  
“What’s it matter? Pike and his men are gone. Most of your warriors are dead. It’s over.”   
  
Lexa couldn’t miss the note of grief in Bellamy’s voice. She was more certain than ever that he had fired the shot to warn her soldiers, and she wondered if he regretted it. The way he’d said Pike’s name suggested as much.   
  
“You may think me heartless, but I am not devoid of empathy. I understand the fear that motivated Pike to attack my warriors. It was misplaced, but not unreasonable.”   
  
At last, Bellamy turned to face her. “Then why surround us in the first place? You had to have known it would make us feel trapped. Threatened. Sow distrust.”   
  
Lexa allowed her shoulders to sag, but she held Bellamy’s stare, willing him to believe her. “Because, until a few days ago, there was a faction among my people who wished to destroy Skaikru completely. My warriors were there to prevent war from breaking out between you and the Ice Nation.”   
  
Bellamy narrowed his eyes. “Was?”   
  
“Their Queen is dead, by my hand.”   
  
“So, what does that mean?”   
  
“It means Arkadia is in no danger from the Ice Nation. With Chancellor Kane in power once more, there may be a chance for peace…”   
  
“If they disavow Pike’s plan,” Bellamy finished for her. “If they allow you to punish me.”   
  
“That is one possible solution. Perhaps not the only one.”   
  
“You should execute me,” Bellamy said, with more passion than he had spoken with during their entire conversation. “I can’t be trusted to know what the right side is. Sometimes, it works out, like when I followed Clarke at Mount Weather. But sometimes… I follow whoever seems most confident, straight over lines a good leader wouldn’t cross.” He hesitated, looking up toward the window. “At least this way, I’ll be useful.”   
  
As she studied Bellamy, Lexa felt a surge of empathy. She knew what was in his heart all too well: the readiness to die for a cause, for the good of one’s people. It was a heavy burden, to be sure, but it also granted a certain fearlessness and freedom, which had tempted her into life-threatening situations more than once. (There would always be another commander to take over when she was gone. Maybe that commander would have enough strength to finish what she couldn’t.)   
  
“Your death may not be as useful as you imagine. There are those in Arkadia who would mistrust me for executing you, just as there are those in Polis who would call me weak for sparing you.”   
  
Bellamy hung his head. “Guess I’m a lose-lose situation for you, then.”   
  
“Clarke would disagree.”   
  
“Clarke’s an optimist. A traumatized optimist, but an optimist.”   
  
Lexa smiled. “I must agree. What about you?”   
  
“I guess I’m an optimist, too. I believed Pike could protect us. And now, I believe you might be able to spin my execution into something that will protect Arkadia… at least, if Clarke helps.”   
  
“You also doubted Pike’s plan, once you saw the methods he was prepared to use. Perhaps you are not as easily manipulated as you think.”   
  
When it became apparent that Bellamy had no response for her assertion, Lexa turned away from his cell. “You should eat that food. It does no one any good if you starve.” She left after that, although she listened for Bellamy’s movements until she was halfway up the stairs. Not a sound came from behind her.

***

Clarke stared out her open bedroom window, watching the setting sun as a warm breeze caressed her face. What should have been a beautiful sight struck a sour chord within her. It didn’t seem fair to enjoy a calm, peaceful evening while Bellamy was stuck in Polis Tower’s dungeon, his fate still uncertain.   
  
_ Is this really about Bellamy, or about you? Maybe you don’t think you deserve anything good. _   
  
She clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms.  _ Of course it’s about Bellamy. He’s my friend. When the moment came, he did the right thing. That’s more than I can say for myself… _   
  
Turning away from the window, Clarke scanned her room. She hadn’t spent much time here for several weeks, preferring to spend her nights in Lexa’s bed. However, she was glad to have a private space of her own, especially during times like this. She and Lexa had grown closer, more intimate, but the two of them certainly weren’t over all their problems.   
  
_ And if she executes my friend as some kind of political move, like I had to do with Finn… do I want to keep being her lover at all? _   
  
A knock on the door interrupted Clarke’s thoughts. She checked the knot of her robe, tightening it around her waist as she crossed the room. Only one person would dare bother her while she was in such a terrible mood, and she prepared herself with a deep breath before opening the door.   
  
As expected, Lexa stood in the hallway. Her green eyes were softer than Clarke anticipated, and she felt them tug at her heartstrings before she got a grip on herself. “Commander.”   
  
_ “Klark.” _   
  
Lexa’s use of her name let Clarke know her purpose. Clearly, she wanted to make up — which brought the anger simmering inside her to an abrupt boil.   
  
“What are you doing here?”   
  
Lexa didn’t react to her accusatory tone. “May I come in?”   
  
Begrudgingly, Clarke stepped back, allowing Lexa to enter and close the door. “Unless you’re here to tell me you aren’t going to execute Bellamy, I’m not interested in talking.”   
  
“Who says I came here to talk?”   
  
Clarke squared her shoulders, standing at her full height. She took back the ground she had ceded, so she and Lexa stood nose to nose. “Why else would you come find me?”   
  
“Because you are angry.”   
  
Although she searched the very depths of Lexa’s eyes, Clarke didn’t find anger there. Instead, she saw a serene sort of acceptance — acceptance that only fueled her rising frustration. “Angry at you,” she snarled. “You’re the last person I want to see. So why are you here?”   
  
Lexa offered Clarke a sad smile. “I might not be the person you want to see, but I am the person you need to see.”   
  
Only then did Clarke realize why Lexa had come. It wasn’t for another argument, for some foolish clash of wills, as they had done many times before. Rather, Lexa was offering herself as a vessel — for Clarke’s anger, for her frustration, for a storm of complicated emotions that had no other outlet.   
  
“Why can’t you just be pissed?” Clarke asked, in a trembling voice. “Fight with me, argue with me, tell me no.  _ Something.” _   
  
Lexa shook her head. “I can’t do that. But I will do this for you.” She curled her fingers around the back of Clarke’s neck, drawing their mouths together.

They kissed as though they were at war. When Clarke’s tongue advanced, Lexa’s retreated, before pushing back with unbridled eagerness. Nails gouged into leather and flesh alike. Each point of contact — hand on hip, teeth in lip — crackled with electricity.  _ This _ was the Lexa Clarke had wanted all along: angry, fevered, passionate.

_ But it isn’t right. _

Some part of Clarke knew she shouldn’t take such delight in Lexa’s fury, nor in her own.  _ Wanheda _ had her moments of darkness, but she wasn’t  _ Wanheda.  _ She was Clarke, a girl who wanted to help her friend. Not a warrior-goddess who rejoiced in violence.

And yet, rejoice she did. She savored the snarl that came from Lexa’s lips, followed by the rip of fabric as her robe was torn from her shoulders. It pissed her off, but she couldn’t ignore the wet heat that ran down her legs as Lexa shoved the fluttering garment to the floor, biting the top of her breast the moment it was exposed.

After that, it was a mad scramble to get Lexa out of her clothes as well. Clarke gave as good as she got, yanking Lexa’s leather pants open at the fly, pulling Lexa’s hair with one hand and thrusting the other between her thighs. It soothed some of Clarke’s bitter self-reproach to discover that Lexa was wet and swollen, too.

“Klark.”

The click and groan of how Lexa said her name only fueled Clarke’s determination. She found the bundle of Lexa’s clit and rubbed hard, until Lexa’s hips jerked and the tendons in her own wrist burned. Nevertheless, she pushed through the discomfort. If she didn’t take Lexa now, Lexa would take her, and she couldn’t bear that. Not tonight.

Lexa seemed to realize the same thing. She removed her clawing hand from Clarke’s waist and wrapped an arm around it instead, sucking mercilessly at the pebbled peak of Clarke’s nipple. Clarke winced, trembling. It infuriated her, how much she enjoyed the pain, but against her very will, her body rose to answer its call.

Clarke didn’t realize they had stumbled to the bed until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. Surprise allowed Lexa to push her into a seated position, and Lexa’s weight kept her there as the Commander climbed on top of her. Trapped as she was, she could only grasp what little control remained by thrusting two fingers up, claiming Lexa’s entrance for her own.

***

Lexa clenched around Clarke’s fingers, sucking in air through gritted teeth. Clarke’s wet nipple bobbed below her chin, glistening with spit, but Lexa’s jaw hung useless. It took all the restraint she could muster to keep from crying out — with pleasure or anguish, she wasn’t sure.

This wasn’t how they normally made love. It was violent, destructive, unforgiving: characteristics Lexa almost never tolerated within herself, no matter how strong the temptation. And yet, as Clarke reveled in the moment, Lexa’s resolve weakened.

_ Heda cannot afford to be angry. I am simply offering Clarke an outlet. A cool head is vital for…  _

Clarke jabbed a sensitive spot along Lexa’s front wall, one that caused flashing lights behind her eyes. She could no longer resist. Thanks to Clarke’s tutelage, she had learned that there was always room for mercy, even within the confines of being Commander. Perhaps, under carefully controlled circumstances, there was room for rage as well.

Lexa chose Clarke to be the vessel of that rage, just as she was the vessel for Clarke’s. They were stronger together than apart. They could bear for each other what they couldn’t carry alone. She poured her frustration into Clarke’s mouth with fiery kisses, plunging her fingers between Clarke’s thighs and into her wetness.

_ I hate that my people call for Bellamy’s blood. _

She drove as deep as possible, rejoicing in Clarke’s surprised yowl.

_ I hate that his Skaikru friends killed my warriors in cold blood. _

She quivered as Clarke’s fingers curled with perfectly timed insistence, causing the coiled heat in her abdomen to unravel like ropes of fire.

_ I hate that Clarke resents me for a situation not of my making. I am jealous that she is so fond of him. _

She sank her teeth into the cord of Clarke’s shoulder, tasting salt and sweat.

_ I hate that I feel… helpless. I hate that we feel helpless. _

When Clarke flipped her over, pinning her against the bedfurs, Lexa did not yield easily. She withdrew from Clarke’s heat and raked both sets of nails down her back, leaving raw red lines. Her thigh took the place of her hand, and Clarke ground frantically against it, using her own knee as leverage to increase the force of her thrusts.

That still felt too much like giving in, so Lexa clutched Clarke’s rear, using her newfound grip to take control of their shared rhythm. Clarke huffed in annoyance, but allowed it, dragging the flat of her tongue along Lexa’s throat before nipping the lobe of her ear.

Despite its roughness, their union purged more pain than it caused. As Clarke fucked into her, as she left answering bruises on Clarke’s skin, Lexa felt sweet relief wash through her for the first time in days. Her burdens were heavy, but in the cage of Clarke’s arms, scoring all her lover’s vulnerable parts like a rabid animal, she felt as though she were floating.

Her orgasm tore through her with such violence that she feared her thrashing might break the wooden bedframe. She cried watery tears, brought on by powerful shudders that raced the length of her body. She could do nothing but clutch Clarke’s back, mouth moving wordlessly, as her inner walls spasmed and she spilled a flood against the heel of Clarke’s hand.

“Fuck,” Clarke growled. “Come for me.”

Lexa did, but not without leaving deep claw-marks along Clarke’s outer thighs.

_ “Clarke?” _

Clarke peered down at her with wide, fearful blue eyes, like those of a cornered preybeast. It was a complete contrast to her predatory body language, like a window into her truest soul. “Hurt me,” she whispered.

_ I deserve it, _ Lexa heard, even though Clarke didn’t say it.

***

When Lexa wrapped both legs around her waist and rolled her on her back, Clarke expected payback. She waited for her punishment to come, more scratches and bites and bruises — maybe enough to make her forget how much her heart hurt. But Lexa simply hovered over her. Still, staring.

“What are you—”

Lexa cut her off with a kiss: not of bruising passion, but of tenderness and understanding. Clarke squirmed in frustration until a few seconds in, when she realized she needed it after all. As usual, Lexa understood her better than she understood herself.

After a brief inward battle, Clarke surrendered. She forced herself to relax, struggling at first, then sighing as Lexa’s warm weight settled on top of her. When Lexa’s mouth wound a trail down her body, unafraid to take the most indirect routes, Clarke allowed her legs to fall open. That simple gesture made her feel vulnerable in ways she couldn’t vocalize.

_ “Ai hod yu in,” _ Lexa said, cupping both Clarke’s breasts in her hands, guiding one of them toward her lips.

The softness of Lexa’s tongue as it skimmed the peak of her nipple made Clarke shudder with uncertainty. Before, she had been keen and focused, thinking only of pouring her rage into Lexa. Now, she realized that had been tunnel vision. Her view had widened, and the vastness of everything around her seemed unbreachable.

Clinging to Lexa was her only choice, and fortunately, it was a good option. Lexa was warm and solid in her arms. Lexa’s touches were slow, predictable, and yet far more intense than Clarke anticipated. Lexa never broke eye contact, and though Clarke wanted to seek safety by looking away, she didn’t. She feared Lexa’s absence, even for a moment, more than she feared Lexa seeing her —  _ truly _ seeing her.

It took eons for Lexa’s mouth to reach her core. Clarke endured, her walls lowering bit by bit, as Lexa’s lips brushed her inner thighs, peppering them with kisses. Her tongue left warm, wet trails on Clarke’s skin, which she answered with her own growing wetness. She didn’t care anymore about being vulnerable. She needed Lexa. Needed this.

When Lexa’s lips wrapped around her clit, Clarke found herself flung back into the stars she had come from. She gripped the furs beneath her, and when that was unsatisfactory, her hands shot down to hold Lexa’s hair instead. Rather than pull or guide, she grasped for something to steady herself, something she couldn’t quite reach. Pleasure threatened to make her forget the world, and possibly even forget herself.

Lexa didn’t allow that. Although she was attentive to a fault, she took short breaks to breathe, and to murmur Clarke’s name. She didn’t need to whisper anything else.  _ ‘Klark’  _ was enough.

Each time, the shadow that had followed Clarke for so long lifted a little more. She  _ was _ Clarke. More than  _ Wanheda,  _ more than a mass murderer, more than the bringer of death. She still needed to save Bellamy, but because he was her friend, not to save her own soul. That soul, though weary, wasn’t lost to darkness, as she had feared it might be. Lexa clearly thought it was worth something, and Clarke couldn’t help but believe her.

Lexa’s tongue pressed against Clarke’s entrance, swirling over her softest parts, and she found that she couldn’t hold back any longer. The urge to fight had left at last, and as Lexa pushed inside her, she found freedom. She arched from the bed and released with a loud wail, screwing her eyes shut as she spilled onto the lower half of Lexa’s face. There was no more fear of drowning. She was content to let the waves carry her where they would, because Lexa would keep her afloat.

It took a long while for her peak to end. Whenever she thought it was over, Lexa would make some subtle movement and bring the pleasure rushing back again. By the time it finally finished, Clarke melted onto the mattress, covered in sweat and trembling with exhaustion that reached to her very bones. She exhaled deeply, a smile stretching across her face.

All she could manage to say was, “Thank you.”

Lexa raised her head, chin gleaming. “I would do anything for you, Clarke.”

“Anything? Even if it was the opposite of what your people needed?”

_ “Our _ people,” Lexa insisted. “I vow to do everything in my power to find solutions that serve both you and them.”

It was exactly what Clarke needed to hear. “Here, come closer.” She opened her arms, and Lexa crawled into them, snuggling up beside to her. Clarke released a heavy, satisfying sigh. Her pain had gone, leaving only peace behind. Together, she and Lexa would find a way forward.

***

Weak starlight shone through the window of Bellamy’s cell, casting faint patterns on the dreary stone walls. He studied them with an unfocused gaze, not only because he had nothing else to look at, but because when he closed his eyes, he saw far worse things. Fallen bodies on the grass, shredded by assault rifles. Pools of blood. Sightless stares. Soon, he might very well be dead himself.

_ Maybe I deserve it. I did too little, too late…  _

The sound of soft footsteps broke the grey monotony of his thoughts. He stirred, sitting up straight as the warmer light of a lantern approached the bars of his cell. “Lexa?” he asked, his voice weak from disuse. So far, the Commander was the only one who had come to visit him, aside from the guards who brought him food and water — and they never came in the middle of the night.

“Guess again.” It wasn’t Lexa, but Clarke who stood in the shadowy dungeon hallway. As she drew closer, Bellamy made out some of her familiar features beneath the dark hood she wore. “Clarke. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Shut up.”

Clarke reached into her cloak, and Bellamy heard the distinct clink of a keyring being unlooped from a belt.

“You can’t do this, Clarke,” he said, even as his heart leapt with hope. “If Lexa finds out—”

“Who do you think gave me these?” She brandished the key ring, which swayed and glinted on the other side of the bars. “Trust me, she knows what she’s doing.”

“I don’t understand—”

Clarke huffed, rolling her eyes. “You could be more grateful, you ass. I’m saving your life.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I  _ know _ you fired that warning shot that alerted the Grounders to Pike’s forces. And I know you’ve punished yourself enough for supporting his agenda in the first place. But the other Ambassadors don’t know that, and they haven’t gotten used to the fact that they need to start using punishments other than torture and execution.”

Understanding dawned. “I’m not the right prisoner to test that new policy on, huh?”

“Definitely not.” Clarke flipped through the keys, selecting one and fitting it to the lock on the door. “That’s why you’re going to conveniently ‘escape’ and go into hiding. At least for now. Maybe you’ll stand trial someday, once everyone adjusts to  _ jus nou drein jus daun, _ but today isn’t that day.”

Bellamy’s brow furrowed. “And Lexa seriously believes this will work?”

“She knows what she’s doing. The Ambassadors will be furious, but she can handle them. Having you ‘disappear’ is better than publicly refusing to execute you, or going along with it and making Arkadia into an enemy again.”

Bellamy had to admit that, from Lexa’s point of view, it seemed like passable solution. Not particularly graceful, but much better than the alternatives — for everyone, but especially him. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You can start with thank you.” The door swung open, and Clarke opened her arms. “Come on, give me a hug goodbye.”

Bellamy embraced her, holding on for a long time. “Thank you, Clarke,” he murmured next to her hood.

“You’re welcome.” Clarke stepped away, closing and locking the cell door. “We need to be quick and quiet. Octavia’s waiting outside with some fresh clothes and a cart for you to hide in. We’ll get you out of the city. Set you up somewhere.”

“What happens after that?”

Clarke shrugged. “One step at a time. It’s enough that you’re alive, and Lexa doesn’t have to worry about Arkadia and the Ambassadors fighting over you.”

Bellamy took a deep breath. “Clarke, I should explain…”

“Don’t. We all make choices. This time, you made a halfway decent one. Try to keep that streak going. With things the way they are on Earth, getting better is all we can do.”

For the first time in weeks, Bellamy smiled. “I think you’re right.”


End file.
